


The Words Our Fists Can't Speak

by RivetingFabrications



Series: Jaytim Week 2016 [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Fighting, Hurt, M/M, Some angst, a bit of blood i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 17:17:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7692898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RivetingFabrications/pseuds/RivetingFabrications
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It could have happened to anyone. And the bitter, unspoken thought that maybe – maybe that it was better that it had happened to Jason than to anyone else – made Tim’s stomach churn with guilt."</p><p>Jaytimweek prompt: Bruised and Battered</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Words Our Fists Can't Speak

The stony silence was suffocating, the air crackling with tension as Tim tore off his kevlar, eyebrows furrowed while quiet anger stewed in his gut. The Gotham heat was unseasonably unbearable, the air conditioning broken in the tiny safe house furnished with only the bare essentials. Jason sat in profile to him, his body twisted away to angrily fume at the adjacent wall, facing away from the younger man.

“Let me take a look,” clipped Tim shortly, the expression on his face blank with suppressed anger. He tossed his gauntlets onto the table, the metal ridges clanging harshly against the wooden surface.

“Forget it.” Jason refused to face him, his own countenance flinty, but Tim grabbed his hand anyway. The Red Hood let out a low, dangerous growl.

“Let go, Pretender.” He didn’t tug his arm away from Tim’s grasp.

“No.” Gingerly Tim slowly pried the bloodied fist open, before guiding it to the basin filled with water set in front of Jason. Jason’s injured hand breached the clear surface, ripples forming and disappearing, blood trickling into the water like fragile, smoky filaments.

“I can do this on my own.” He made as if to shift away from Tim, but Tim growled a little, pressing the older man’s hand further into the basin. Jason stilled, albeit reluctantly. “I don’t need you to fucking baby me.”

“I know,” replied Tim frigidly. Through the whole exchange Jason’s infuriated gaze never left the point on the wall he was focused on, glaring as if he had Superman’s heat vision. His knuckles were badly injured, practically flayed raw and open with a vicious red, but he took the hand towel flung haphazardly on the table and gently started wiping away the dirt and grime away from the fresh wounds. The soft white fibers were soon dyed pink, each pass over the abused skin considerate but firm. Deeming his handiwork adequate, Tim lifted Jason’s hand up, inspecting the back more closely for any other nicks and stray bits of crusted blood he might have missed. The second hand towel he pulled from his pocket, drying Jason’s hand and tenderly passing over the wounded injuries.

“I’m not sorry.”

“I didn’t expect you to be.” Tim scowled as he started winding the bandages around Jason’s hand, dressing it as best as he could. If they were admittedly tighter than usual, Jason didn’t complain.

“He deserved it. And more.” Tim didn’t deign to rise to the bait, as much as he wanted to, only winding the bandages in a second layer along Jason’s hand.

The phone rang, and at this time of the night (or day) the caller was easily narrowed down to a handful of people. Without sparing a glance at Jason, Tim crossed the room, grabbing the phone with a bitter ferocity.

“Yes?” he all but barked into the receiver. Babs’ voice responded, clipped and neutral.

“The other men have been rounded up.”

“What does Bruce have to say?”

“He said that for now, Jason should probably stay in. I’ll update you when we have more information. The police are sorting through the mess.”

“Thanks, Babs." He put down the phone with a final click. Jason snorted.

“Let me guess, Daddybats thinks he can ground me?” Tim whirled on him.

“This isn’t a joke, Jason!” Tim stalked towards him furiously, stabbing an accusing finger into Jason’s chest. “Tonight, you were working with us. You were wearing that goddamn symbol as one of us. And you _killed_.”

“Listen up, Pretender,” snarled Jason, hackles rising. “I –”

“No, _you_ listen,” spit Tim, his face mere inches from Jason’s, glaring furiously through the lenses he hadn’t taken off yet. “I _know_ you’re not sorry not even a bit, and –”

“It was a fucking accident,” growled Jason, slamming his newly wrapped fist on the table with a massive bang, though the noise didn’t even make Tim flinch. The wounds would probably reopen again quickly, and Tim in that moment didn’t care that Jason was ruining the bandages already, ruining his handiwork, ruining everything. “But yeah, I’m not going to fucking apologize, because we all know the man fucking deserved it.” Jason pushed himself up in one stormy movement, grabbing his battered helmet off the table.

“Where are you going?” snapped Tim with poorly veiled anger, and Jason sneered at him.

“Out. Don’t wait up.” The door slammed with an air of finality.

 

Tim’s dreams were fitful, and he curled against the body pillow Dick had got him, tossing and turning. As plush as the pillow was, it was a poor substitute for Jason’s solid body warmth, too much give and too easy for Tim to wrap his arms again. But then he thought of the way the man’s body had crumpled to the ground, the ricochet of bullet spraying in the Gotham Docks, and cold rage made him bury his head further into the covers, waiting fruitlessly for sleep to overtake him.

Babs woke him up after a paltry two hour’s rest.

“Autopsy revealed the guy had a medical condition,” she spoke wearily. “Even if Jason hadn’t shot him…well, he would have died anyway from whatever he got bashed in the skull with.”

God, the thug’s face was so unmemorable it made Tim sick. He remembered a score of faces all the same, some leaner, some unshaven, all mean. But he certainly remembered every punch he delivered, every expulsion of pained air rushing forth from a pair of lungs as his staff drove into someone’s gut. He remembered the feel of his staff slamming into a thug’s head in different scenarios, different fights.

It could have happened to anyone. And the bitter, unspoken thought that maybe – maybe that it was better that it had happened to Jason than to anyone else – made Tim’s stomach churn with guilt.

 

Jason disappeared for a week, which turned into two, which turned into three. Tim finally tracked him down and cornered him on the rooftops of a shitty restaurant in Chinatown that had been a front for smuggling prior to the current management.

“Hi,” Tim managed, his brain churning a mile a minute. It was at times like these that he hated the helmet that hid Jason’s expressions, but Jason’s body language was guarded, wary.

“Bats send you to make sure I’m not stepping out of line?”

“No. I came by myself.”

“If it’s about the autopsy results, don’t bother. Babs already let me know,” sneered Jason. “Not through the main channel, of course.”

Right. Because Jason was only linked up to the main com lines in times of dire importance, so Babs had probably hacked into his helmet feed. It only made Tim feel worse.

“I didn’t come for that, either.”

“Out of a misguided sense of guilt then?” snorted Jason. “Spare me, replacement.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“All right, replacement.” Jason scoffed at him, turning away. “I’ve got places to be, crime to stop, so I’ll be on my way.”

“No. You’re not walking out on me again, Hood.” Tim moved fluidly, blocking Jason’s path.

“Try me.” Jason’s bulk shouldered past Tim, but Tim planted his feet, made himself immovable.

“Not until we talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, replacement. I got the message loud and clear.” Tim could practically imagine Jason’s eyes rolling behind the helmet. “I broke the rules, and clearly you guys don’t give a crap about anything I have to say in defense, but frankly, I have zero regrets doing it.”

Frustrated, Tim grabbed at Jason’s arm; he was rebuffed as Jason shook him off like he was a gnat. “I wanted to apologize.”

That stopped Jason. “I don’t think I heard that right,” Hood said slowly, turning around. “Did you get a concussion, Red?”

“Can’t you be serious for _once_?” snapped Tim. “I said, I’m _sorry_. For doubting you.”

Hood was eerily silent, his helmet subtly crooked to one side as if he were still processing Tim’s words.

“Accepted. But, it doesn’t matter.”

“What?”

Hood snorted, folding his arms across his chest. “Face it, replacement. This isn’t going to work. It’s going to be the same old fucking song and dance, over and over and over again.”

“What are you –”

“I’m saying _we_ won’t work. I’m leaving Gotham.” In Tim’s shock, Jason walked past him, firing his grapple and launching off into the cold Gotham air.

“Wait up!” Tim swoops by, leveraging his winged cape to catch up to Jason. “You can’t keep running from what you don’t like, Hood!” he yelled angrily.

“I’m not running. I’ll be back eventually, the way it always goes,” called Hood, touching down in an alley where Tim could see the gleam of his parked bike, the splattered paint of the bat symbol emblazoned across the front.

“ _Jason_!” Tim snarled, marching up to him even as he landed, feathers dragging across the dirty pavement. “You do not get to just fucking leave!”

“Yeah?” hissed Jason. “Guess what, pretender, you are _not_ the boss of me. Not you, not Bats, not Goldie, not _anyone_.” He advanced forward, poking Tim roughly in the chest. “Maybe you think us fucking every now and then gives you some sort of leverage, but I got news for you – it _doesn’t_.”

Infuriated, Tim swung at him, but Jason predicted and blocked it, laughing cruelly. “Oh, you didn’t like hearing that, did you, pretender? Fine then, let’s _go_.” Jason’s knife was suddenly in his hand; he lunged forward. Tim dodged, executing a leg sweep that Jason couldn’t avoid in time. When Jason stumbled, Tim seized his chance, moving forward to pin Jason with an arm lock.

“Hood!” growled Red Robin fiercely. “Do you really think it’s about that?” Jason struggled beneath him briefly, his bulk difficult to weigh down as he flung Tim off and charged.

“No! This – is about you and the rest being unable to accept that maybe there are other methods beyond B’s little boyscout book that are actually effective!” He feinted a right hook, getting a good hit that Red Robin managed to block in time but still reverberated down his bones; Tim would be bruising there later, the skin turning mottled yellow and brown by morning. They crash together, Tim contorting abruptly in a bid to wrench the knife from Jason’s hand, but Jason predicted his movements and switched to his non-dominant hand.

“You think I don’t know that?” Tim barked, slamming the heel of his hand into Jason’s solar plexus; a lucky blow, Jason staggered backwards briefly before recovering. “But even you know – Batman is a symbol – a symbol that Gotham can do _better_ without resorting to the wrong methods. That’s why you agree when you work with us that you use rubber bullets!” His elbow dug sharply into the vulnerable flesh just below Jason’s ribcage that even Kevlar couldn’t soften the worst of the impact, but Jason’s hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked him in; Red Robin overbalanced, tugged forward right into Jason’s knee pummeling into his gut.

“Shut the hell up, replacement,” snarled Jason. Tim staggered backwards; Jason launched forward again, but Tim was ready. His elbow slammed into Jason’s face, his other hand twisting Jason’s knife arm painfully until Jason was forced to drop the blade.

“I’m not trying to preach to you from having the higher moral ground,” roared Tim, rising up and slamming Jason against the ground and pinning him in a headlock, “I’m trying to get you to stop hurting yourself needlessly!” He stopped to catch his breath, his pants coming short and violent though he never let up over Jason’s body. To his surprise (and suspicion), Jason was barely even trying to throw him off, though the man’s body was still tense beneath him.

“Just because I don’t enjoy putting down the pests doesn’t mean I’m hurting myself, pretender,” said Hood calmly, his hood cracked from Tim’s elbow. He wasn’t wearing a domino; his eyes were dark and stormy but deadly calm.

“Liar,” panted Tim, his grip insistent. He lets go of the headlock; immediately Jason flipped over, tried to hook a foot around and use his momentum to pin Tim but the younger man drove his fingers into a nerve cluster in Jason’s arm. Hood shouted, his arm deadened, and Red Robin pinned his arms above his head, straddling him. It was a laughable hold; they both knew that Jason was hardly inconvenienced, and Tim hoped that knowledge would allow Jason to at least _listen_.

He ripped off Jason’s gloves; they were bruised and bloody, barely healed, and he can tell immediately Jason has been taking poor care of himself, probably throwing all his anger and vengeance at the nearest objects and criminals.

“I don’t want to fight,” he growled, his voice all Red Robin, “but I will drag you back to our apartment and tie you down if I have to. Just come _home_.” His voice cracked a little at the end.

Jason remained silent, his stormy eyes impassive as his eyes roved over Red Robin’s infuriated expression, calculating his odds, his chances.  “It’s not going to solve anything.”

“Neither will you leaving Gotham.”

Jason licked his split lip. “They say insanity is doing the same thing over and over again.”

“So stop running,” said Tim softly, pleading, because he wasn’t above begging anymore, not when Jason was below him, bruised and bloody with adrenaline pumping through both their veins. “Stop running from me, Jason.” He released Jason’s wrists, sitting back on his haunches; the ball was in Jason’s court now. Tim felt the rhythmic easing of Jason’s ribcage rising and falling with each breath, locked between the strong spread of Red Robin’s thighs, slowing as the adrenaline dissipated.

Jason’s bloodied knuckles raise, brushing against Tim’s cheek. “This is a terrible idea.”

“That’s not a no.” In spite of everything, Tim found himself leaning into the touch, his eyes still locked onto Jason’s prone figure beneath him. “Did you,” he began, the question hesitant, but if he missed his chance he would probably never get it again, “did you mean it when you said that we were just fucking?” He doesn’t want to know the answer, but fear had prevented him from bringing it up in the past, and he hated himself a little for falling prey to his own inhibitions. He didn’t think it was just…that, but maybe to Jason – maybe they were on different pages, different wavelengths, and maybe they’d never sync.

Jason swallowed, eyes darting away. “No,” he admitted tiredly, and his battered knuckles fell away from Tim’s cheek; Red Robin caught them and pressed a gentle kiss to the wounded, calloused hand.

“Good,” Tim said firmly, relief welling up in him. There was plenty that needed to be said, beyond clumsy touches and the restrained gasps of skin on skin and ragged breaths, but tonight, beyond the fists and the violence and the blood – there was progress. “Because I think I’m too tired to have to do a second round of this.”

“Gotta work on your stamina, replacement.”

“If you call me that one more time –” started Tim irritably, but then suddenly Jason surged up, lips fitting perfectly against Tim’s. Tim could taste the faintest hint of blood, the jagged edges of Jason’s helmet less than comfortable, but then Jason pulled back all too soon, surveying Red Robin’s dazed expression with something between smugness and wry fondness.

“This isn’t over,” Tim said softly, even as his hands wound about Jason’s aching shoulders.

“No,” acknowledged Jason, his hands sliding down to rest on the jut of Tim’s hips, their foreheads pressing together, “this is only the beginning.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me here on  [tumblr](http://rivetingfabrications.tumblr.com/) ! I'm an nsfw blog so you've been warned.
> 
> Reviews and kudos make me very happy <3 uwu I hope you enjoyed!


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